“I see that.” My brother turns to me, lips still curved up with his amusement. “What were you going to ask the hot pilot? If we’re taking bets, I put money on him saying yes.”
“Why?” I jab a knuckle into Shawn’s arm. “Are you going to guilt him into agreeing? What if I ask him to give me all of his airplanes?”
“Still betting on a yes. What about you, Rey?” Shawn tosses the nickname at my snarky teenager, and I swear the girl swoons. Traitor.
“Yes. I bet he’ll say yes, too!”
I grit my teeth and sigh out my nose, kind of hating my brother for getting her hopes up whenI’mbetting he’ll say no. But I keep my doubts to myself.
Instead, I lean over to peer through the window, searching for a familiar shaved head.
And of course, I catch George the moment he reaches for the front door and glances through the glass. Where I’m staring at him.
Damn it!I jerk back, only making myself look like more of a weirdo.
George steps into the diner and immediately heads our way.
“Hey, hot pilot. Beth wants to ask you for something.” Shawn drops his hands on my shoulders and steers me toward his friend.
George halts and stares at me from under the brim of a worn baseball cap. One of his eyebrows lifts in question.
“I…” Damn that single eyebrow. The move does things to me, and I’m mortified to realize the adrenaline crush is still hanging around. Will it ever disappear, or am I going to have to make this my new normal? Is this my life now? Constantly wanting to jump George Bunsen’s bones?
He waits, and I dig through the mental lust fog in my brain and manage to ask, “Would you do an interview? About the emergency landing? ForThe Busy Beaver?”
Both eyebrows are up now.
Oh yeah, did I not mention the name of the school newspaper?
“I’m the reporter!” Riann pops up from her seat and strolls forward, hand outstretched. “Riann Howard. Reporter for the Blue Creek High School newspaper.”
George accepts her hand, and they shake like business associates. Honestly, I’m impressed.
“You want to interview me now?” he asks.
Wait…was that a yes?
“Could we schedule a time in the future to sit down?” she asks in full professional mode. “My dad is here to pick me up.” She points out to the parking lot, where a pickup truck turns off the main road.
“Sure,” George says. “Beth has my number.”
“Cool!” Riann skips back to her booth to scoop up all of her homework, stuffing the papers into her bag. On her way out she fist-bumps Shawn again. A mini celebration that they were right.
Then it’s just the three of us. Well, us and the two other booths I have, and the dinner crowd about to descend, and Billy in the kitchen and Darla about to get off her break, and Sally in the back office. Sam would normally be here, too, but their dishwasher is broken so she’s at home, acting as handywoman.
“Sit wherever,” I tell the two men, realizing I’ve neglected my diners while I chatted with Riann and my brother. Luckily, no one seems to mind when I swing by their tables to top off their drinks.
Meanwhile, Shawn and George settle at the counter, my brother chattering while George listens, nodding every so often. I wonder if that’s part of the reason their friendship works so well—one can ramble and one can stay quiet. Or maybe George is normally more talkative when he’s somewhere other than Cornfield’s. Somewhere far away from me.
Well, too bad. This is my territory. And if I have to deal withresidual horniness by having him here, then he can deal with the general unpleasantness of my presence.
“Okay.” I flip open my notepad when I stand across the counter from them. “You said Shawn Special and a Reuben?”
“You got it.” Shawn grins, and George offers a nod. I scribble out the order, pin the sheet in the pass for Billy, then turn in time to spy Darla strolling out from the back, returning from her fifteen-minute break.
Her eyes land on Shawn, who straightens with a grin when he sees her, and she groans.
“Hi, Darla!” he chirps. “How’s your day going?”
